Mo’s father had always understood him. Knew about his worry and that it wouldn’t leave him alone. And he knew that Ben would need guns. But they were not as easy to obtain in this country as in others. Aslan had gotten him weapons that were supposed to be destroyed. Ben had never asked how Aslan had done it, and Aslan had never told him. For a long time, Ben could not believe that a police officer would trust a young man he hardly knew and hand him firearms. Aslan had seen something in him and trusted him. He trusted that Ben needed all this and would not do anything with it that was not necessary.
Every now and then Ben had driven past the factory and had checked the locations. He had noticed that the factory had become busy again over time, but had not paid any further attention to it and had not visited the site again. In the meantime, he had regained so much confidence that this was no longer necessary. When the day would come, he knew that he would find everything as he had left it. Only he had never expected to have to go up against the Russian mob.
When the enemies outnumber you, what do you do?
Take them out, man by man.
And what is the most important thing to do?
Act from the shadows.
Aslan had gotten him guns that were used for hunting. Modified so that they caused greater damage and were therefore banned and confiscated by the police. These weapons had only one problem: they were very loud. Again, it showed how well Aslan understood Ben.
“You also need something with which you can be as silent as possible.” With that, he took out a box and opened it. Looking inside then, Ben had to smile.
“Have you ever used something like this before?” Aslan wanted to know.
In response, Ben put the parts together, which elicited an appreciative smile from Aslan. It had always surprised Ben how wonderfully friendly, even warm-heartedly, this man could smile, who was otherwise so serious. And Mo had truly been his spitting image, like a younger edition, except that in time he had been able to shed his father’s seriousness, though not entirely.
The box that Aslan had given him then was now Ben’s foremost goal. Carefully, he slipped out of the alcove and looked around. He abandoned his plan to return to the room to help himself to the weapons there when he saw that there were two men there. He could not risk them noticing him and raising the alarm. One shot would be enough and he would face a superior force against which he could not stand.
Silently he moved away from the room and crept along the corridors. Again and again he heard voices and hid himself. Exactly because of such a situation he had chosen the factory as a precaution, in order to be able to retreat there if necessary. This was the ideal terrain, because it offered many possibilities to hide, but also to set traps for his opponents.
Fortunately, Ben did not have to go far until he reached the place where he wanted to go. It had been a long time since he had been here, and basically the small room with the old boilers, boxes and many pipes of different sizes had not changed. Sparse light fell through a broken window, but Ben did not need much. He knew exactly where to look and squeezed behind the equipment, then used various struts like wedges to climb to one of the topmost pipes where there was a hole.
Without making a sound, he retrieved a box. With it he climbed down and opened the hatch of one of the boilers to reach inside and pull out a canvas bag. He placed both on the floor and then, almost reverently, opened the box. It was all there. He had to smile involuntarily as he thought of how he had always felt when he had assembled the individual parts and then used it all.
Even before he joined Aslan, Mo and the family, he had watched movies. Movies had been a part of his education. Certain movies that had one thing as their theme: the truly limitless superiority of the white race portrayed in stories about heroes who usually took on superior numbers alone and were victorious. His favorite hero, then as later, had been John Rambo, who was not only an expert with firearms, but also with a more traditional one: the bow and arrow. Of course, Rambo’s bow was not a traditional one, but a much more modern one, and Ben had always dreamed of owning one.
When Aslan handed him the box and Ben realized that it contained just such a bow, he knew that it was his favorite weapon ever. Exactly the one he needed now.
As if not a day had passed, he put the individual parts together and checked the tensile strength of the string, which was further enhanced by the pulley-like construction. With the appropriate arrow, such a bow had even more penetrating power than a rifle cartridge. An arrow was almost silent.
Ben opened the sack and took out a quiver of arrows, all of them provided with razor-sharp points consisting of three tapered blades. Of course, he didn’t have arrowheads with explosives like Rambo had. But he had made some that did something similar, though not with as much explosive power. But he had other things for that.
Ben tucked his pistol into the back of his belt, strapped the quiver to his back, and attached three arrows to the bow’s device. After hiding the sack and the box back in the cauldron, he set off.
The hunt had begun.
It took a little while before he encountered the first men, who by now had equipped themselves with automatic weapons. He could have shot them down with ease from his position. But he could not risk them firing a shot and thus revealed his position. Still, his tactic was to grab them one by one. But not yet. The time would come that required adjustment.
He moved almost silently through the maze of pipes and now useless machinery, taking advantage of every shadow, and waiting. Back when he had made the compound his own, he had explored every nook and cranny, and now he could move here as if he were a shadow himself.
The men had spread out everywhere. He probably could have left the compound unnoticed, but the danger was too great that they would then follow him.
A superior force in front of you is better than just one enemy at your back.
This was his compound. There was probably no one who knew his way around better. That was his advantage. Outside, it was a different story. The few men Russev had sent out had not been real opponents. They were better thugs. He could surprise them because none of them had been able to imagine that a single man could be dangerous to them and, moreover, fight back so mercilessly. They would not make this mistake. Even the way they held their weapons suggested that they had enjoyed many years of military training. That made them dangerous opponents.
Ben watched as two men with submachine guns searched the hallway. When they passed him, he slipped out of the shadows behind them, drew his bow and fired. The arrow pierced directly through the cerebellum of the man who had been hit and came out the front just below the nose. As the other man turned, Ben shot him an arrow in the eye.
Before going to them, he checked to see if there were others nearby. Since he could never make out anyone, he pulled the arrows out again and hid the bodies, including their weapons, in an adjoining room. He kept only one knife and some magazines. Then he crept on.
All the men Sergey had rounded up were now scattered around the compound, forming small groups consisting of a few men. That was what Ben had hoped.
When he encountered three again, Ben fired an arrow at a distant bucket. As it fell clattering to the ground, the three automatically oriented themselves in that direction, sneaking up until they were right in Ben’s aiming line. Ben took aim and shot an arrow through two of the necks. As his comrades went down spitting blood, the third cried out in panic and spun around, searching. When he finally saw Ben, he aimed his machine gun at him. But before he could shoot, an arrow hit him right between the eyes.
Ben ran to the dead and took the arrows again, before he also shouldered one of the machine guns. He hastily hid – or half-hid – the three dead bodies.
He moved up the stairs to the roof of a building that had a small tower from which there was a good view over the area. This was an advantage, of course, but also a danger, since the tower could be easily targeted.
Ben looked through each of the broken windows and s
potted isolated men as well as small groups. The factory was still surrounded by a high chain-link fence, complete with bell wire. It was impossible to get over there. Therefore, they guarded the exits.
Ben had no choice. He had to further reduce the number of his potential opponents and do so as quickly as possible, because he was running out of time.
He looked around and his eyes fell on the many parked cars near the factory’s own gas station. When the factory was abandoned, they had emptied the tanks, of course. In addition, mainly diesel had been used at that time, which could be of little use to Ben in his plan. But maybe Russev had made the tanks usable for other purposes. This was quite the possibility.
Ben made a plan. It was risky, but he didn’t have a better one.
Careful to stay out of sight of the men who were looking for him, he started to descend the stairs. Almost silently, he made his way down and walked through a corridor that even then had looked as if a bomb had hit it. For some reason, the young people here found it particularly fun to let off steam and immortalize themselves with graffiti.
Out of nowhere, a giant of a man appeared next to Ben with a rifle at the ready. Unlike the others, he had not gone in search of him, but had kept himself hidden so that he could ambush him. He had succeeded.
Immediately, Ben was able to knock the barrel of the rifle aside, but the giant struck directly, so that Ben had to drop his bow. As he reached for his gun, the man kicked Ben and slammed him into a wall. Ben used the impact to spring right back like a feather before his opponent could swing the gun in his direction.
Ben crashed into the man and they both went down. As Ben uncoiled, reaching for his pistol again and coming to a crouching stop, the man knocked the pistol out of his hand and executed a kick to his head that sent Ben crashing into a wall.
Reflexively, Ben raised his arms to protect himself from further blows to the head, but his body was uncovered. Immediately, his attacker’s fist hit him, robbing him of his breath for a moment before the next kick hit him and threw him backwards. His back slammed hard against a concrete pillar and his senses faded for a moment.
When he looked back up, he saw the man truly towering over him, holding a walkie-talkie.
“I’ve got him!” he announced with a smile.
“Where are you?” Ben recognized Sergey’s voice on the walkie-talkie.
Before the man could answer, Ben grabbed a loose stone and hurled it him. The man had to dodge, which gave Ben enough time to jump up and attack him directly. Immediately the man let go of the walkie-talkie to have both hands free.
Ben continued to throw blow after blow. However, the man was able to block and attack in his turn. He was strong. Very strong. An excellent fighter, whose attacks, bursting with power, Ben could only block and deflect with difficulty.
“You are good!” the giant said. “But I will break you for what you did to Russev and my comrades.”
Ben took a breath and pulled out his quiver. “I guess it won’t help if I tell you I didn’t do this!”
The man snorted. “Of course not!”
With that, he attacked with even more fury, punching and kicking. His rage, however, made him unfocused and Ben kept finding a gap that he could use to place a hit. This only made his opponent angrier. His next blow was so powerful that it broke through Ben’s guard and hit him in the stomach. Although Ben knew to put his arms up, it was too late and his opponent’s knee slammed into his head.
Looking up from the ground, the giant picked up two short iron bars, cradled them in his hand and attacked. With full force, the iron bars hit the spot where Ben had been lying a moment ago. Again, he reached behind him, but his pistol sailed out of reach. Before any of the bars could hit him, he dodged and rolled.
Desperately, Ben looked around for a weapon. His eyes fell on his quiver of arrows. As the giant launched his next attack, Ben jumped to the side, rolled, then pulled out two of the carbon arrows. Holding one in each hand, he stood up. The giant grinned at him.
“You’re good!”
Ben nodded. “You have no idea!”
With that, the giant attacked, striking with the iron bars, but Ben blocked them with the arrow shafts. Though the blows pelted down like windmill blades, Ben parried just as quickly, even managing to plant hits on his opponent. This only made the giant even more furious.
Ben skillfully dodged and the iron bars demonstrated their destructive effect when they hit the walls with full force, causing pieces to break off.
But even Ben could not avoid being hit. It was only thanks to his skill that he was able to get out of the danger zone as quickly as possible before he would have had to suffer worse injuries.
But then his opponent was so angry that he increased his speed. Ben would not be able to keep this up for long, as the skill and sheer power of his opponent would eventually bring him to his knees.
Ben turned the arrow over in his left hand. The tip of the arrow was now pointing down. On his opponent’s next attack, he blocked the blow, only to have the sharp blades of the three-flighted arrowhead inflict cuts on him.
The man cried out and struck at Ben. He just managed to dodge, but stumbled and almost fell backwards, causing his opponent to immediately follow up. Ben, however, took the momentum and performed a backward roll, while the giant could not stop his onslaught. Ben stopped his roll, and when he came up, he rammed one arrow into the attacker’s stomach and the other into his foot. The man cried out and struck at Ben, but he had long since dived back down and leaped toward his bow. Again he performed a roll, pulling an arrow from his quiver and putting it in immediately as he gripped the bow.
The giant realized what Ben was up to and didn’t let his injuries stop him from charging after him. He raised his two iron bars to lunge for a mighty blow. Ben dropped to his back, pulled the string all the way through, and fired. The arrow entered under the chin of the giant, went through his head and came out on top, so that the arrowhead pierced deep into the ceiling, but the shaft was still in the head of the giant.
The iron rods fell clattering to the floor, while the man’s body went limp and was only held upright by the arrow.
Ben took a breath and stretched. He felt the hits very clearly. At least one rib was cracked and the wound he had received from Matteo was bleeding again. Still, he didn’t have time to concentrate on that. He gritted his teeth, strapped his quiver back on and picked up his pistol. When his eyes fell on the walkie-talkie, he picked that up as well and attached it to his belt. Finally, he picked up his bow and made his way stealthily further down.
The path to the parked cars offered some hiding places, but they did not completely protect him from being discovered. If someone looked down at just the right moment from a higher position, he would certainly discover Ben fast, and that would certainly have meant the end.
Cautiously, he crept to the parked cars, which once again indicated that there were some of Russev’s henchmen here. He must have called everyone and apparently, due to the whole events, he did not care to protect the factory as his hiding place anymore.
Still watching for any movement, Ben went to the gas pump and took out the nozzle. When he turned it on, gasoline actually came out. Perfect.
Ben clamped the lever tight. Gasoline was steadily leaking out. He went to each car and cut the fuel lines so that a lake formed everywhere under the vehicles, connecting with the others.
Car by car, he moved forward, using them as cover, then continued to sneak.
Suddenly he heard a call. He looked in the direction from which it came and recognized three people on a narrow bridge near some boilers. Without delay, he took aim and fired an arrow. The one hit went down groaning, while the others refrained from raising their rifles and took cover. More arrows bounced off the iron railing.
When the men looked up again, Ben was no longer in sight.
Immediately, one of them pulled out his walkie-talkie. “He’s by the cars!” he announced. “By the cars!”
&n
bsp; Then he brought his rifle to bear and, with his comrades, crept cautiously along the walkway, finally making his way down a flight of stairs. All the while he kept his eyes on the cars, but could see nothing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that more and more of his comrades were approaching and also setting their sights on the cars.
Sergey looked around, “Where is he? Find him, will you!”
All the men were running around looking into every car, but at the same time trying to be kind of careful, expecting that Ben could be anywhere.
Car after car was checked, the doors ripped open, as was every coffer space. Ben, however, remained missing.
“Where is he?!” shouted Sergey, visibly losing more and more of his composure.
“He was here,” one of the men explained. “I saw him!”
“And why didn’t you shoot him straightaway?”
The man backed away as Sergey approached him with an expression on his face that didn’t seem to bode well.
“He shot at us with a… with a bow and arrow,” the man said, weakly trying to defend himself.
That was the wrong answer. “A bow and arrow? And don’t you have weapons? Guns? Then why don’t you shoot back! He’s got a freakin’ bow and arrow!”
The man gulped.
“He destroyed all the cars,” another suddenly declared, catching Sergey’s attention.
“What?”
“Look. He cut the fuel lines. I guess we’re not supposed to be able to track him.”
Sergey looked at the man, then looked around. Saw the gasoline pump and the tap lying on the ground, from which gasoline was running steadily. The ground was already covered in gasoline...
“Shit!”
Then Sergey looked up and saw Ben rising some distance away, an arrow cocked in his bow.
When Ben let go of the string, Sergey jumped to the side. The arrow drilled into a hoop, which immediately went flat. Then the bow attached to it exploded.
Ultimate Rage - Ragnarok (Thriller) Page 14
